


took 45 minutes to get all dressed up

by Wallissa



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Feelings, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, still gangsters though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallissa/pseuds/Wallissa
Summary: On their way to a meeting, Alfie and Tommy get terribly distracted.(A mix of booming basslines, the taste of pink cigarettes and the relative privacy of a rolled up partition)





	took 45 minutes to get all dressed up

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Partition and the fic itself is certainly inspired by that song. However, I don't think either of them would be the type to listen to Beyonce. So instead there's a lot of Kanye in here, just a heads-up if you happen to hate the guy.  
> This was written in late 2015 so there is 0 connection to anything that has happened on the show since. It's mostly an Alternate (Modern) Universe where they happen to work together now and then and occasionally bang, I suppose.

Tommy Shelby is a riot.

He’ll smash your face in and spit at your brother and he’ll always be a step ahead of you. That last part, of course, isn’t true most of the time, but as he’s good at improvising, so most people don’t know. 

He grows secrets like flowers and takes pleasure in showing them to certain people. Alfie likes to tell himself that he knows more secrets than the others, but he can’t be sure. He knows a lot, though. Like how Tommy will always wear that golden cross, hidden underneath his shirt, and how he buys Apple products simply because they’re expensive, he has no interest in the actual difference a less elegant product would make. And how he will smoke cigars after a deal but hates the taste, in private he’ll smoke the thin, long cigarettes prostitutes and Lolitas prefer, Alfie guesses he picked the habit up from them. 

It’s there now, the faint but almost sickeningly sweet smell of those cigarettes, carefully hidden beneath Chanel, because damn but the guy is a pretentious fuck. Alfie smells it anyways, in the close space of the car. They don’t talk often, because usually they start fighting at some point or another and it’s just no good to arrive late and with bloody knuckles. But this is different. When they’re quiet, it’s just fine. Alfie watches his profile, the cut of his cheekbones in the glow of his screen. Tommy frowns and uses his left hand to tap away on his phone. The right one is squeezing Alfie’s thigh as he’s concentrating on whatever he’s writing and it got Alfie’s attention. So he lets his legs fall open a bit, sees how Tommy’s hand slips farther up his thigh. 

It’s hot in the car.

Alfie watches how Tommy bites his bottom lip and frowns harder and quickly puts a hand on the hand Tommy has on his leg to prevent him from pulling away to use both hands to grill whoever he’s talking to. Tommy doesn’t pull back though, in fact he looks up for barely a second, one corner of his mouth twitching up. As good as it gets. 

With his right hand, Alfie reaches for the remote and starts the music. Next to him, Tommy doesn’t flinch, even though it’s loud enough that the bass vibrates through the seats. Alfie meets the chauffeur’s gaze in the back mirror, the chauffeur looks away quickly. 

With one swipe, Alfie has his arm around Tommy’s waist and pulls him in, his face tucked into the crook of his neck. Tommy hums softly, barely audible over the bass line of _Monster_ , Kanye West’s drawling, and drops his phone. It falls to the floor, clatters, but neither of them moves to pick it up. Instead Tommy bares his throat a bit so Alfie can rub his chin along his neck, messing with the creamy white, red patches of beard burn all down to his collar. Frame that and hang it in one of those white cubes and Alfie’ll spend more time getting his fill of culture.

Still, all appreciation for modern art aside, the collar is in the way, Alfie has to stop and that just won’t do. So he pulls back for a moment, considers his options. With a quick move, he gets a good grip on the stiff collar of Tommy’s shirt, feels the thick material between his fingers and pulls, sends pearly buttons flying. Hundreds of pounds and doesn’t that feel good, ripping that pretentious shit off of the streetrat. Tommy’s breath stutters and without missing a beat, he hits Alfie – less like a real man would, more like an angry cat, fingernails leaving red welts on his neck, barely missing his face. Yeah, that’s it, Alfie laughs, lets it vibrate through him as Tommy pushes at him, trying to press him down on the seats, but with Alfie’s arm around his waist he has little to no chance of actually moving the man. So that powerful, powerful man is left snarling and squirming in Alfie’s grip and yeah. Yeah. 

Quick as a snake, Alfie grips Tommy’s thigh and hauls him in closer and now Tommy has to dig his fingers into his arm to keep his balance in the moving car, thighs tightening around his hips. Alfie wants to suck on his tongue, but the boy has sharp teeth.

It’s like fighting, but better. The adrenaline has Alfie’s blood pumping, teeth itching with the need to taste the salt on Tommy’s shoulder. His neck stings where some of the scratches just stopped bleeding and he feels it down to his bones. This crazy boy makes his skin crawl. He can’t get enough of it.

With Tommy half on his lap, looking every bit like he wants to slit Alfie’s throat and yet pressing so close that the hot line of his cock is impossible to miss, Alfie looks up again, sees how the driver is concentrating just a bit too hard on the road. He raises his hand to the partition, snaps his fingers.

Immediately, the driver rolls up the glass window and Alfie turns his attention back to Tommy who used his distraction and slipped his cold hands under Alfie’s coat. His wicked eyes are glittering in the dark and then he’s pulling Alfie in by the front of his shirt, force of it almost cracking Alfie’s teeth when their mouths meet, his beard without question messing with Tommy’s freshly shaven skin. Tommy tastes of nympho cigarettes and mints, his teeth biting at Alfie’s lips and then he suddenly yanks his fist back, tearing Alfie’s linen shirt down to his belt, the sudden rush of air making Alfie jump. It’s fucking petty, but no one ever expected Tommy Shelby not to be petty to begin with. Alfie’s hands flexing on Tommy’s hipbones, feeling muscles and bones under his palms. “You fucking psycho” It sounds fond, smile curved against his lips. 

Tommy growls and grinds down, making Alfie gasp wetly against his mouth, and he has one hand fisted in Alfie’s hair now, pulling his head back slightly to get a better angle as he bites his lip again. “Shirt was expensive, bastard.” 

Alfie has both hands in Tommy’s back pockets by now and couldn’t care less about the shirt. He doesn’t try to control Tommy’s movements, that never goes well with a man possessed. Instead, he feels his muscles work under his palms and arches off the seat a bit to get a better angle. He’s half hard from this already, Tommy’s scent fogging up his brain, the salty taste of blood from where the bastard bit his lips making him feel light-headed. “Get me the slick.” 

Tommy freezes mid-grind and blinks down on him like he’s overthinking what they’re doing now, cock almost hard enough for Alfie to feel his pulse through his fucking trousers. Alfie lightly slaps his arse. “Come on, we’re not going anywhere. Look at you.”

Tommy can’t look at himself now, but he’s a mess already, blood on his lips, ripped shirt, red neck, messed hair. He doesn’t bother to answer, just turns and twists like a fish in Alfie’s arms, driving him crazy with this alone, and reaches over for the armrest on the opposite side, pushes it up to reveal the compartment where pretty boys with razor sharp tongues store condoms, slick, weed and several pills and powders Alfie wants nothing to do with. 

Just as quickly as he disappeared, Tommy is back on his lap, one arm around Alfie’s neck, the other fumbling with his belt. Alfie helps him, yanks it out of its loops and probably rips a few of those off in the progress. Tommy growls but doesn’t bite him again, too concerned with getting his shoes off so he can shimmy out of his trousers. Alfie uses his teeth to uncap the lube and spits the cap onto the floor, impatient now. Tommy must be too, because he doesn’t object, only pulls his navy knickers down to reveal the swell of his arse for Alfie to slip his fingertips between. He lets out a low growl at the cold, face pressed into the crook of Alfie’s neck, his cock hot against Alfie’s skin through the ripped shirt. 

When Alfie works one finger into him, Tommy rubs his hands down his chest, nails scratching through the coarse hair. At the second, he reaches down and undoes Alfie’s fly, squeezes him through his underwear and making him twitch. “Get a move on” He hisses in that ridiculous deep voice of his and Alfie feels electrocuted. He crams a third finger in which in turn makes Tommy gasp. It’s too soon, Alfie knows, but with Tommy, everything is too soon, adrenaline pumping through his veins instead of blood, lust making him dizzy. 

With shaky hands, Tommy tries to rip the foil of the condom and grunts in frustration when it slips from his grip. Finally, he rips it open with his teeth, and the animalistic ferocity makes Alfie grip him even harder. He’ll be bruised and sore after this, the lunatic. 

To speed things up a little, Alfie rolls the condom on himself, slicking his dick with the slick that’d run down his fingers and pooled on the palm of his hand. It’s warm now and he could get lost in the feeling, except Tommy is greedy now, tugging at his hair hard enough to hurt. “Come on”

So Alfie sinks back into the seat and pulls Tommy on top of him, making sure he still has room to move. Good thing those fancy cars the Shelbys love so much are made for this. When the tip of his cock pushes in, Tommy purrs, eyes rolling back. Alfie has a split second to think that he should put his hands on his waist, steady him, before Tommy all but sits down, taking him in in one move. Alfie goes a little cross-eyed, gasping like a fish. Tommy is so hot inside he feels like he’s melting, fingers clawing at the leather seats. 

“You crazy boy” he says, voice sounding hoarse and broken to his own ears. Before Alfie can get his breathing under control, Tommy starts rolling his hips, eyes half-closed, lips so wet they’re glistening in the shimmer of passing streetlights. Alfie feels weightless for a moment, like Tommy is sucking the soul out of him with every fluttering heartbeat. Those first few slick thrusts, Alfie is truly out of it. He always is. Tommy with his hotness, the long lines of his body, the soft curve of his mouth and those shiny eyes, there’s nothing Alfie can do but stare at him in wonder. 

When Tommy starts moving in earnest, it’s to the intro of _Ni**as in Paris_ and Alfie is kickstarted into action, his hands flying to those slim hips, fingernails digging into his skin, wanting to feel the strength move under his hands. He bucks his hips a bit, testing his luck and when Tommy lets out a hitched breath, squeezing around him, he takes it as encouragement and squeezes his hips, guiding him into a rhythm. Once that’s settled, Alfie plants his feet on the floor and gets a good grip on him before he gets that new angle to thrust up into him in earnest now.

First, Tommy still moves with that unearthly elegance, like he’s made of quicksilver and a stripper’s wet dream, years on a horse’s back put to good use, but Alfie knows how to make him lose his mind by now. So it’s not long before Tommy’s thighs start quivering and he tries to keep up, but the faster Alfie moves, the weaker Tommy gets in the knees, until he bounces on his lap from the force of Alfie’s thrusts alone. Almost what Alfie wants, but he’s not satisfied until he finds the right angle and Tommy goes rigid for a heartbeat before it all bleeds out of him, pleasure making him lax as Alfie drags over that spot. “Fuck” He sounds broken now, big eyes glazed over, his hands scrambling for leverage, leaving red welts on Alfie’s shoulders. 

It’s the best look on him. The coolness melted away, the sense burned out of him. Slick, obscene sounds, slick, obscene mouth. His breaths hitched and sweet and he looks like he’s dreaming, so far gone now. Alfie wants him so much it scares him, but fear has always made him burn hotter when he’s in charge. So Alfie pulls him in, tugs at his shoulder and Tommy all but falls into him.  
It’s not a kiss, not with both of them panting like this.

Sometimes, Alfie dimly wonders if it ever felt that good, before. If any girl ever was that hot inside. He isn’t sure anymore. It’s like Tommy overpowers everything he’s ever felt before. He’s too real. 

His skin sweat slick under Alfie’s rough palms, mouth almost lax, tongue lapping at his lips, sweeter than anything. Alfie’s gone, he’s so gone. He’s so close it’s burning under his fingernails, fire pooling behind his navel and he growls, nips Tommy’s lips in frustration, almost a bite, almost a kiss and that’s what get’s the fucker off. He sounds almost surprised by it, the arm that’s still tight around Alfie’s shoulders twitching like he’s electrocuted. 

Alfie would laugh but Tommy is hotter, tighter than ever and sounds like he’s getting paid by the minute, hips moving on their own accord as he’s fucking himself back and it’s a fucking religious experience, Alfie thinks he actually blacks out for a second. Pleasure chokes him, eyes rolling back and he can’t breath, everything too intense, skin too tight, like he’s about to burst, about to -

 

It takes a while until he comes down enough to blink – or open his eyes? He doesn’t know, he feels dizzy, drained, and really fucking tired. And better than he ever, ever did. Always this way with Tommy.

On top of him, the madman stretches, the lines of his body distracting in the flickering light. For a moment, there’s silence, Alfie hissing when Tommy grinds down on him with that crazy glint in his eyes, the arse. He slips off and Alfie takes care of the condom and for a moment let’s himself daydream about white on white, but Tommy slaps him out of it and points his food towards his coat pocket. Or that was just him slipping into his pants again, but Alfie sneaks the soiled condom into the pocket anyways. He tied it, no hassle and Tommy will probably appreciate his humour later. Maybe.

With that taken care of, he relaxes back into the seats, tucks himself back in and has his lighter out just in time when Tommy leans in with a pastel pink cigarette between his bruised knuckles and the golden shimmer of a cross half hidden under a ripped shirt. Alfie steals the cigarette and takes a drag before leaning in to follow it up with a kiss. He intended for it to be a short affair, but Tommy doesn’t do that, the fucker. Greedy as if he was hungry for it, as if Alfie was the best fuck Tommy’s ever had. It goes on and _Love Lockdown_ is blaring in the background, beat building up and collapsing like waves and Alfie is almost distracted by the very real danger of the ash of a fucking Lolita cigarette burning a hole into his thigh.

But between the cigarette burning down and the city rushing by and Tommy Shelby kissing him like he’s worth missing a meeting, Alfie feels that burning a thigh is not worth mentioning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If not, consider telling me why? Constructive criticism is always appreciated. On top of that - English isn't my first language so if you find any mistakes, please tell me! (thank you)  
> This fic has been sitting on my computer for about two years and I decided to publish it on a whim, so here it is and I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing it.  
> (Also I've spend way too much time thinking about what kind of music modern Tommy would listen to. Personally, I think it would be a lot of indie manpain, King Krule and Arctic Monkeys)


End file.
